


A Kindness

by Ariana (ariana_paris)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-30
Updated: 2002-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariana_paris/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set straight after "Lessons" (7.01) Buffy "gets back" to Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kindness

* * *

"You're an evil disgusting thing," she says, as if I don't already know that. I look up and I see my blonde lady standing above me, her arms folded on her black-clad chest, her large hazel eyes filled with hatred and contempt. "You're a worthless worm, a gross abomination. You thought getting a soul would impress anyone? How dumb is that? You know that only works for Angel. He was a better vampire than you ever were, and now, he's a better man. You will never be anything but the same pathetic moron you've always been."

I lower my eyes to the dim concrete floor, my mind in such turmoil that it is ten times the pain of the cuts on my breast. My goddess of light, my beacon in the dark of my past soullessness, doesn't understand the sacrifice I made. And she is right, of course; I thought I would ascend into the light, that although I am mired in shadows, I could illuminate that darkness with the brightness of my soul. But the darkness is too strong, it has sullied my soul until it is barely the flicker of a candle in the pitch black night. Even the wan, dusty light bulb above my head shines brighter in my prison of concrete and metal.

When I look up again, my tormentor is still standing before me. She is now wearing white, and holds a jar and a plastic cup.

"I-I brought you some blood," she says, casting only furtive glances at my undeserving face. "Thought you might be hungry."

For one insane moment, I actually consider the possibility that she might be real. Maybe my sweet angel has heard of my sad state and taken pity on me, as she did when Glory tortured my demon. But that moment of kindness is the only one I can recall, and I must come to the conclusion that, like my tormentor, she is a figment of my imagination, torn from my unconscious by the despair in my battered soul.

"Who are you?" I ask nonetheless, intrigued by this apparition. 

She looks sad and confused; I can smell fear on her sallow skin. "I'm Buffy. You saw me earlier, remember?"

I do remember. The apparition asked about my wounds, and now it brings me food. I entertain the thought that by communication, I might entice it to stay with me, that it might provide me with a glimmer of hope against the constant onslaught of the other, less pleasant Buffy and her nefarious consorts. But then I remember what I am. Nothing. I don't deserve hope. This apparition can be nothing more than a trap sprung by my tormentor, much as a torturer might invite his victim to a lavish meal after starving him for months, to finally break his resolve with one last act of apparent compassion.

"Don't bother talking to her, Sparky," says the man leaning against the wall beside me. "She can't help you, she's just a girl. I'm far more powerful than she'll ever be. Maybe you should just kill her now. It'd be a kindness, you know."

"Sod off!" I snap at him, losing my temper because I know he's right. "I'm not interested in your kindness."

The apparition looks upset. She places the jar of blood on the ground and looks as if she's going to run away and cry. But then, her face sets in resolve.

"Okay, I'll go. But I want you to eat something first." She doesn't look at me, but crouches down and concentrates on pouring some blood into the cup she brought.

She holds it out to me and the acrid smell seems to call to my veins. Yeah, could do with a meal. Can't be ranting and raving on an empty stomach. Bloody hell, look at me, don't even know which end's up these days. I grab the cup and drink it greedily; the blood is cold and nearly tasteless, but this'll get me on my feet. Then I'll break every bone in that twerp Warren's body and use his remains to batter the rest of them. They might be powerful, and I might be worthless; but a fellow's got to try, right?


End file.
